


Three kidnappings

by NovaNara



Series: Let's write Sherlock (mostly too late) [26]
Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Genre: M/M, Romance, bad nods to ACD canon, cybermen technology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 11:25:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2691122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovaNara/pseuds/NovaNara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things Mycroft can't really talk about on the phone. Crossover with Torchwood and whoniverse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three kidnappings

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Paragraphs in italics are flash-backs that John is recounting for Mycroft.

“That last case in Cardiff...you disappeared from my surveillance,” is Mycroft's opening line on his latest John kidnapping, a couple of months after the momentous Christmas with Irene's death.

“Yeah, well, an invisible lift will do that to you,” John replies cheekily. He doesn't expect Mycroft to positively blanch.

“You. Brought. My. Brother. To. Torchwood?” the eldest Holmes enunciates, excessively clearly and utterly threatening.

“Now, Mycroft, I wouldn't say that _I_ brought Sherlock anywhere. He does whatever he wants, as you know. And they were withdrawing evidence he needed. Of course, we didn't expect the exotic pets being smuggled to be quite _that_ exotic but anyway...” John replies reasonably.

Mycroft cuts sharply in John's explanation. “Do you have the faintest idea of what Sherlock risked coming in contact with that team?” the bureaucrat hisses venomously.

“Being involved in an orgy?” John quips back. Because, really...

> They were on the invisible lift, Sherlock trying to figure out how it worked, when the thing started to move. It almost startled John enough to fall off it. When they arrived at the floor, before John could even start to take notice of the absurd place – or the bloody pterodactyl – Harkness had welcomed Sherlock with a, “Hey, we match!”, and winked at him. 

> It suddenly reminded John so strongly of St. Bart's – here was another coat-wearing, good looking, winking madman – that for a moment he wondered if this was another Holmes relative. 

“

> Unimportant. What matters now is the Weston case...” Sherlock replied curtly.

“

> All work and no fun, are you? Sorry but that one's out of your division. Even if you don't strictly have one, I guess. But I can give you the solution anyway, if you want. You see, alien things are ours to deal with. Alien junk, mostly, of course, but the odd alien pet too. No, that wasn't a case of the “buys pet, discovers it's rat” urban legend. If we'd let things run their course, it would have evolved in more of a Gremlins situation, so we intervened,” the Torchwood leader had explained genially. 

> Of course, Sherlock didn't catch the Gremlins reference and frowned. 

“

> Saying alien, you don't mean from...I don't know... Sumatra,” John interjected hesitantly, just to be sure. 

> Jack laughed. “I mean Alpha Centauri, if we want to be precise.” He then offered them a tour of the place, showing them not only the Weston's alien pet but a couple of other alien species, too. 

> Afterwards, a smartly dressed man with a tray came in, saying, “That's a bit much to assimilate without even a coffee, Jack. Don't you think?” 

“

> I'm not against drugs as a general rule, but I hate when people try to slip me one without my consent,” Sherlock replied. 

> Jack laughed. “You're really as smart as the blog says you are. Fine. Ianto, sorry for your wasted work, but we'd like a batch of not retconned coffee. Though,” he mock frowned, “ you might get addicted to that too. I certainly did. Ianto's coffee is terrific. Will you take the chance?”

> The detective only snorted in response.

“

> Anyway, fine. You want to remember this, you will, but I need to know you won't spread it. The world is not yet ready. Not for a while,” Torchwood's leader said seriously. 

“

> Of course we won't put that on the blog. Nobody would believe us anyway. We don't want people to think that we've gone crazy or are taking the piss,” John interjected.

“

> Now that the boring part is out of the way, can I get you interested in some more pleasant activities?” Jack grinned at Sherlock. “We could borrow Ianto's stopwatch. It makes for some lovely games. Or he could join us. I'd like if he did, but it's up to you. And your cute boyfriend too, of course. Participating, watching...whatever rocks your boat. I'm open to any combination or idea you might have. Very open. And flexible.”

“

> I'm not...” John automatically said but before he could conclude with 'gay' or 'his boyfriend', Sherlock cut in spitefully, “Interested, and neither am I. We rather like being exclusive. Especially in the case of virtual strangers with an history of fucking...probably even alien pets.”

“

> Aliens able to give informed consent, thank you very much. I have morals, you know. Well, some. Though you should really let people talk for themselves, Sherlock. Maybe he was not * adverse * to domming the hell out of us both,” Jack teased. 

“

> No, I'm really, not into...that. Or into you. I'm perfectly content with my life. And since the case is solved somewhat, maybe it's time we get back to it – our life, that is,” John countered, utterly ill at ease at being so daringly propositioned – especially because Jack smelled wonderful, like no one else John has ever met, and if he didn't make himself refuse quickly he might be in serious danger to accept. But he was still not gay, right? Nothing he'd said was strictly speaking untrue. Which was a good thing, because John was shitty at lying.

> Jack pouted. “Fine. But it's a standing offer, for both of you. Or either, should you split. Not wishing it on you, of course – you look too delectable together. But, well, life is strange.” 

Mycroft doesn't appreciate John's brand of humour. “Torchwood could have * killed * Sherlock. No, actually they should have killed Sherlock. That they didn't...I'm not sure what to make of it. Their policies surely haven't changed. If they didn't notice...can we trust them still, I wonder?” he hisses.

“What?!” John shrieks in shock.

“That's what should happen to Cybermen, even only partially converted,” the elder Holmes explains calmly.

“Cyber what? You're not making any sense, Mycroft. Is it some sort of joke?” the doctor counters, baffled.

The look Mycroft levels at him is the perfect mix of pity and disdain. “I trust you remember the ghosts John? And the subsequent if brief invasion of android-like murderous creatures whose battle cry was 'Delete'? You were in Afghanistan at the time, but it did happen all over the world.”

“Of course, but wasn't that....”

Before John can repeat the ridiculous cover people like Mycroft have worked so hard to concoct and spread, the British Government cuts in, “That was an alien invasion. And if not for some...let's call it external help we would have been annihilated. But the point is...these androids weren't entirely built. They were once humans that had been, in their own words, upgraded to become these creatures. When I got to Sherlock after that, I discovered that they'd already started the conversion process on him. The very first step was grafting a device to suppress all emotions on him. They did see them as weakness – not entirely wrong, I'm afraid.”

“And you didn't have it removed?” John queries, quietly but clearly conveying, “what the _hell_ were you thinking?” 

“For two reasons. One, the thing was connected to my brother's brain – it's on his nape, you'll never guess with his hair – and any error in removing it could have consequences I wasn't ready to face. And two...my brother has always been a sensitive child. Very sensitive. I won't hesitate to say that he felt things too deeply. A number of psychologists couldn't teach him to contain his moods. I'm not even attempting to describe what happened when the family pet died. We'd hoped mood-altering drugs wouldn't be needed, but when Sherlock reached his teen years he made his own choices about that. Sadly, without medical control. He even thought we should be happy about it – plenty of his _normal_ peers did the same, as he pointed out. Since he's been fitted with the emotional suppressor he's been doing _fine_ , John. He's gotten clean. He started working in earnest. He's built himself some sort of life for himself. Yes, he has a whole new set of shortcomings, but nobody's perfect. So forgive me for not trying to remove the alien technology from him posthaste,” Mycroft states sharply, umbrella tapping a nervous rhythm to underscore his words. 

“I'm sorry. I didn't know,” John apologizes quickly.

“Of course you didn't know. Nobody knows. Can you imagine the reactions?” The elder Holmes smiles grimly.

“So why tell me?”

“Because I trust you. And Sherlock trusts you. And he's never tried to upgrade someone else - that's why I can't let up my surveillance of him, you understand – but since he's not acted against the people he hated, I'm starting to wonder if perhaps you're the one who's most in danger of activating the dormant cyberman programming. That he might try to make you like him because he appreciates you. If ever Sherlock tries to upgrade you – hell, if he even mentions that sentence idly - shoot him down,” Mycroft orders solemnly.

“He won't...and I wouldn't...” John doesn't seem able to string a coherent sentence together at the prospect.

“Shoot him,”the elder Holmes reiterates curtly. “That won't already be Sherlock anymore. That'll be an alien threat, and we can't always wait to be saved by someone else. Of course I hope too that he won't, not ever, but we need to account for all possibilities.”

“I will,” the doctor promises, sighing heavily. What happens after that remains to be seen.

_2)_

After the utter débâcle that concerns Shezza's return after Sherlock's teen years, Mycroft kidnaps one still newly wed John Watson once again.

“I don't understand,” Mycroft says, frowning. It's clear that he's not used to having to admit as much, nor does he like it.

“What?” John asks, curious.

“Sherlock. I had been so sure that...Shezza was behind us now. He stayed clean ever since the emotional suppressor was installed. And even if Sherlock has done pretty reckless things for the sake of cases before...Well, he was just too much similar to what I remembered from his youth. When he self-medicated because the world hurt him. But it can't be, can it? He doesn't feel like that anymore. Hell, he doesn't feel full stop. So why the relapse? What might have prompted it? You claim to be his best friend, John, and I'd ordinarily find the idea laughable – it'd be like saying your best friend is a pc – but if you have wrought any explanation from my brother for his behaviour, in consideration of your close relationship, I hope you'll be inclined to share it,” the elder Holmes states, tense. He doesn't like the situation one bit.

Not that John is happy about Shezza's appearance, but the pc line stings and he purses his lips angrily. “I can't say that Sherlock has given me any justification for his recent behaviour. No anything beyond 'a cover for a case', and I can't say that I believe it, either. Not entirely at least. But, Mycroft, you can't talk about your brother like this anymore. He does have feelings, you know,” he reproaches sharply.

“We've been over this, John. The Cybermen have fitted Sherlock with an emotional suppressor. His feelings have been washed away. He might fake admirably – I heard he's moved everyone at your wedding – but thank God he has no feelings anymore,” Mycroft reminds him with a put upon air.

“Well, about that...”

> John had gone to pop the question. No, not the “marry me” question, the “will you be my best man” question, and he was almost as anxious as at his actual marriage proposal. In truth, he expected a lecture against marriage and “Why would I ever want to be involved?” from the man who despised love to begin with, but he had to try. Traditionally, the best man was the groom's best friend, and so John * had * to at least ask Sherlock, you see. 

> The detective suggested a garroter at first, when John breeched the argument, and John almost laughed. So Sherlock hadn't guessed which best man they were talking about. It was so very him that the doctor felt a surge of inordinate fondness towards this overly brilliant, entirely clueless man. 

> Once it was cleared which role they were talking about, though, Sherlock continued suggesting people. Greg Lestrade. (Friend, of course. Best friend, no.) Mike bloody Stamford. (A good bloke to share a coffee with – God knows good things come from coffee with Stamford – but decidedly not best friend material.)

> Was the sleuth offering alternatives because he meant to refuse? Only he * hadn't * refused, not in so many words, and John wondered if his best friend had even caught what he meant. (To be fair, John hadn't asked in so many words either. He'd never got around to it.) So John told him. “You. You're my best friend, Sherlock.”

> The detective didn't reply immediately. Instead, he went blank-faced and let the silence stretch so long that John started to seriously worry something was wrong. Had he traumatized Sherlock with his request? Then, in the deadly silence echoed a loud clonk. Sherlock looked gingerly behind himself...and there on the kitchen floor was the emotional suppressor, self-detached from the nape of his neck. 

_Remembering that the thing had been in contact with Sherlock's brain up to seconds ago, the doctor queried concernedly, “Oh God, Sherlock, how are you? Dizzy? Bleeding? Confused?”_

“

> Surprisingly okay. Considering you just broke me,” the sleuth replied, sounding a bit unsure and astonished. 

“

> Broke you?” John echoed, hesitant. That didn't seem very good. 

“

> Broke the alien tech at least. Maybe we should contact Torchwood and let them know such a feat is possible. But I was so used to it keeping me cold-hearted like Mycroft is naturally that I'll admit it's going to take some time getting acquainted with this new me. Or old me. Who knows, maybe you won't like me anymore now that I'm fully human.” Sherlock laughed then, but it was strained. The idea terrified him. 

“

> You've always been human. And you'll always be my best friend, no matter what happens. I promise,” John countered, smiling.

> Sherlock hugged him, abruptly and awkwardly. Naturally, John hugged back, patting him gingerly as if he were a nervous cat likely to hiss and bolt any minute from the affection he had welcomed – hell, instigated. 

“

> Sooo...do you want to be my best...” John asked, once Sherlock let go, because having vocal confirmation was always the best idea. 

“

> Friend? Of course don't be daft John,” the detective cut in. 

“

> ...Man. For the wedding. It's sort of a lot of work, you know, you'd be quite more involved than the other guests. You'd have to make a speech, for one. Preferably without insulting anyone in it,” John finished with a grin. 

“

> If you do trust me with the responsibility, I will. Obviously. Even if it doesn't work that often, I always try not to disappoint you, John,” the sleuth confessed quietly. 

“

> Hey. You have never disappointed me. Not where it counted,” the doctor replied softly. He'd gotten a bloody miracle out of Sherlock, he couldn't complain (much). “And of course I trust you with this. I asked, didn't I? There's no one else I would rather have as my best man, and I'll be beyond glad if you accept.”

“

> I'll be your best man, John. And your best friend. And your best whatever you need me to be. Anytime,” Sherlock declared heartily. John had grinned at him.

When the doctor finishes relating this, not a little smugly, Mycroft is frowning, his mouth a thin line of displeasure. “So you're telling me that Sherlock has lost his emotional suppressor. Well, then the reappearance of Shezza isn't at all surprising. Sherlock has never been able to cope with his own emotions. That he resorted to drugs again was only to be expected. And I would have expected it, and provided accordingly, if a certain someone would have informed me of Sherlock's new condition. I know you don't work for me, John, but I thought that we worked together. To ensure Sherlock's health at least,” the elder Holmes grits out.

“I thought Sherlock himself would have told you,” the doctor says in justification. Mycroft's pointed look asks him wordlessly if he's forgotten all about the brothers' relationship in these last two years.

“And I thought...I thought it could be a positive thing. A beautiful thing. Sherlock having emotions like normal people, that is,” John adds hesitantly.

Mycroft's withering glare if at all possible grows in his spiteful intensity. “Only Sherlock doesn't do anything like normal people. I thought you of all people would understand this and stop wishing for him to conform to ordinary men,” the elder Holmes spits out acidly.

“God, Mycroft, I didn't mean...I don't want him to be normal. But yes, I won't regret that he's complete now. Unbridled by goddamn alien tech,” John bits back sharply.

“Of course. You aren't there to deal with the fallout anymore, and apparently what you've seen isn't enough to shake your self righteousness. I do have to thank you for the emotional suppressor being unable to deal with my little brother's stormy feelings, don't I? What were you thinking, doctor Watson!” the elder Holmes accuses hotly...which is so strange for him.

John should be scared, but instead he yells, “I just told him that we were best friends. Good God, Mycroft, I thought it was bloody obvious!”

“You've been warned from the start – repeatedly – that Sherlock doesn't have friends. In which universe was it obvious?” Mycroft counters curtly.

“In this one, where we'd both die for each other without a thought. Sorry if I thought that moves us past casual acquaintances,” John snarls angrily. “As I said, bloody obvious.” He takes a breath, and adds, “And I know you said I wasn't there to deal with the fallout, but I didn't know. And I mean to be there for him: of course I'll be. It doesn't matter that I'm married, I'll help Sherlock any time and in any way he needs. Why does no one believe me when I say that?” The doctor huffs in frustration.

“Because you'll soon have – you already have – other, stronger obligations. And that's understandable, doctor Watson. Nobody expects any different – Sherlock least of all,” Mycroft explains evenly.

“Ensuring he doesn't somehow get himself killed by his own idiocy – and drugs can kill you alright – again is a rather strong obligation of mine. If only because of my own selfish interest in my mental health. In case you don't get the 'I care for him, of course I'll be there for him' bit. Do you think I should explain it to him too?” John queries with a little smile at the end.

“Better not. I don't think Sherlock is entirely equipped to deal with the idea yet.”

_3)_

Please kidnap me. JW.

When the message arrives on Mycroft's mobile phone, he frowns instantly. John believes in calling and discussing things like normal people are wont to do. What is so sensitive that he feels the need to arrange a face to face meeting? What has Sherlock gotten himself into now? It's true that if there was immediate danger John would be simply requesting backup and not asking to meet him – he's a sensible man. But it's still cause to wonder. No need to work himself into a tizzy, though, or theorizing without data. He'll soon know what the problem is.

“I thought Sherlock and I should announce that together,” is John's opening line, “but he absolutely refuses to face you now for some reason. He said that he doesn't mind if I tell you, though, if I'm that bursting to say it to someone, since you probably already know, with your spying and all. And I know that if that wasn't true you can probably read it on me anyway – hell, you read it on me the first time we met – but anyway...I love your brother. And he loves me back. And we'll make each other happy every day of our lives. And I don't think this is a romantic exaggeration, but anyway I'm a romantic so deal with it, Mycroft.” He grins widely.

“Congratulations and welcome to the family, then, John,” the elder Holmes says evenly. His smile is more than a bit forced, though.

“But? I'm sensing a but somewhere,” John replies, only half joking. If Mycroft has objections, he might as well air them all now rather than later, when Sherlock's present to be hurt by his brother's callousness. It's not like he can make John change opinion.

“I do hope that this is not a hurried move. Isn't it too soon after your wife's unfortunate...leaving? You said you loved her. How can you be so sure that you love Sherlock now? You've not even lived with him since he's been freed from the alien technology. You might find him quite too much to handle. And misleading him and then walking away... that'd be just cruel, doctor,” Mycroft states coldly.

Points to him for diplomacy in calling Mary running away with Jim bloody Moriarty (they had a history, apparently) just 'leaving', but the rest is so insulting that John smiles his angry, 'you don't want to mess with me' smile.

“I'd say it's a long overdue move, but then again, we have some justifications. Besides being bloody idiots, that is. But I'm sure that I don't need to explain that to you. And yes, I'm sure I love Sherlock. I was sure long ago, not that it concerns you, but I thought that he would never reciprocate – and not only because of the cybertech. So I did stay by Mary. And no, I'm not going to be unable to deal with Sherlock and run away. You can't seriously think that of me, Mycroft. I will always be there. And about Sherlock's moods...”

> John had popped by Baker Street unannounced (his house without Mary was really too empty...and tidy) and maybe Providence had made him, because when he got in with the key nobody had ever requested he give back he found Sherlock in the kitchen, back towards him. The sleuth was in the process of hitting the emotional suppressor against his head hissing, “Work! Work, damnit!” John took his best friend's wrists and ordered him to stop it. Of course he did. The man was going to give himself a concussion if he kept it up.

> When Sherlock turned to him, there were tears in his eyes. Shocked, John let him go. 

“

> You broke it, you graft it back. You're a doctor. I * need * this, John. Having emotions is horrible. It's either this or drugs. Maybe a nice overdose so I won't have to deal with anything anymore. I can't endure this any longer. I won't, John,” the sleuth declared vibrantly.

“

> Don't even joke about that, Sherlock,” the doctor choked out. “We can deal with this. Together.”

“

> That's the point!” Sherlock growled frustratedly. “We're not together in any sense of the word and I'm tired of surviving on the scraps of your spare time. She left and you didn't even come back home. Of course you didn't. You are much better without having to endure my presence.”

“

> What the _hell are you saying? I wouldn't be 'enduring' anything. But Sherlock, you didn't ask. I supposed that you enjoyed the additional lab you'd undoubtedly set up in my room. If you wanted me to move back in, once again, one word was all I needed,” John replied, flabbergasted by the accusations._  
> 

“

> Additional lab?” Sherlock echoed, sounding almost outraged. He dragged John to his old room by the arm. As the sleuth would say, dust was eloquent. Nobody had had the heart to set foot in the room for a long time. The place felt too utterly wrong to stare at without breaking in its complete lack of John. 

“

> Of course I want you back, you idiot! But I want the suppressor back, too. It hurts too much without it. And you don't want to deal with an emotional me. I'm unsightly, I've been told,” the sleuth uttered, vehement at the start but ending on a very quiet note. 

“

> Now that's bullshit, Sherlock. Everyone has a right to his emotions. I'll tell Donovan and Anderson and all the other twats off, to begin with, and we'll get along just fine. I promise you. No matter how moody you are. There'll be no need for that...or drugs, I assure you,” the doctor affirmed, the strength of his conviction evident in each word. 

“

> But without it I might blurt it out,” the detective objected, looking almost...afraid?

“

> Blurt out what?” John queried, deeply curious. 

“

> I can't say. You'll be disappointed, or angry, or both, and leave, and now that you've dangled moving back in before me you have to go through with it, John, you absolutely have to...” Sherlock replied, working himself up to frantic. 

“

> And I will, Sherlock. I promise, I will. I want to as much as you, really. But you can't leave me wondering all the time what you meant now. I'll imagine the worst things. Just say what's on your mind, and I promise that I won't leave. And I'll try not to get angry. If I can help at all, I will. You know that, don't you?” the doctor replied evenly, hoping to calm his friend. 

> Sherlock snorted at that. “I'm beyond help, John. I love you, and I'm sorry, but I can't stop. Not without the cybertech, and not even then completely, I suspect. Muted, twisted by the suppressor, but I'm afraid I loved you almost since day one. * Now * will you help me graft it back?” The detective threw the words in exasperation, like a challenge. 

“

> Absolutely not,” John replied with a grin. 

“

> What? Why not?” Sherlock whined. 

“

> It so happens that I love you back, that's why,” the doctor declared boldly. 

“

> Don't lie! You can't! You...” Sherlock shouted angrily. John shut him up mid rant, not wanting to hear his objections. By kissing him. Full on that maddeningly perfect mouth. And if Sherlock moaned into the kiss, he wasn't about to tell that to Mycroft. 

“

> You don't decide how I can or cannot feel, Sherlock. I hope this was evidence enough that yes, I do love you, very much, but I'm more than willing to keep proving how I feel about you, repeatedly. And often. So the last thing I want is for you to stop loving me, by alien tech or otherwise. And you don't let other people dictate how it is acceptable for you to feel. Not even me. Much less Mycroft, which I suspect put such silly ideas in your brain. No bloody one. You feel however you feel and I will be there for you. Every time. To comfort you, to hear you vent, to do whatever you need me to do. I promise,” John had sworn fervently. He was utterly convinced of what he said, that much was self-evident.“So can we go to bin the bloody emotional suppressor?”

“

> No.”  
> “Why the hell not?” the doctor replied, frustrated. Did Sherlock still not believe that he had a right to his own feelings? 

“

> Because it's your trophy, John. You made me feel for you despite the thing. Each time you see it, you should be indeed proud of yourself,” the detective had explained with a nervous smile.

“

> That's not all.” John wasn't sure how he knew, but he was certain.

“

> If you ever decide to leave me, you will graft it back on, John. If you mean for me to survive,” the sleuth confessed with a haunted sigh. 

“

> I won't ever leave you, but if it comforts you having a plan B, fine. I'll just have to prove to you every day that we don't need it,” John said, instinctively hugging Sherlock quickly. The man leaned into his embrace. 

“It's people like you that have convinced him that the cybertech was the best possible option for him. Frankly, I believe that's bullshit. Not being treated like he *shouldn't * have feelings at all is the best for your brother, and I'll prove it to you, Mycroft,” John concludes, challenging.

“I can only hope that your confidence will prove well deserved, John. I wouldn't share Sherlock's trust that broken alien technology can be made to work again, and my brother wasn't exaggerating when he admitted that in his present state your leaving him once again would downright kill him, I'm afraid. I'd be very careful if I were you, John. If you do kill Sherlock that way, I might not be able to prove it in court, but I do have other means, as you're doubtlessly aware,” Mycroft states with a threatening little smile. It would scare John if he wasn't so certain of his feelings. 

“ 'And if you hurt my little brother your body won't ever be found', message received, Mycroft. As you're aware, to quote you, I won't ever knowingly hurt Sherlock. So all around the meeting is a success, wouldn't you say? I've said what I came to say, you've played your role, and for all you told me you do know that I'll really make Sherlock happy. I'd say it's high time for that to happen. Oh, before I forget it, Sherlock says that he'll tell your parents himself, so don't ruin the surprise as you always do. By the way, would it bother you terribly if I asked for a lift to Tesco? We need milk,” John concludes with a grin of his own.

  
  



End file.
